


Irresistible [RED!Sniper X RED!Reader]

by QueenCandyness



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 10th Class, F/M, reader is female, technician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCandyness/pseuds/QueenCandyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since the mercenaries have been fired from their jobs. Now after the gruesome expedition the nine infamous classes of Teufort reunited once more with the help of the assistant -- Miss Pauling. Getting adjusted back to their way of life, Miss Pauling decided that after the problematic journey to introduce a 10th class to the team. A new and toxic class that nobody expected to be confronted with on the battlefield. Meet the new destructive and challenging class -- the Technician.</p><p> </p><p> [© 2016 | иєιgє]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You would be lying if you said you weren't skeptical, nervous, anxious -- whatever English word out there is to describe your inner anxiety attack. Your nails effortlessly dug themselves into the flesh of the chair you sat on.

Uncomfortable.

A feeling you thought that never could have hit you -- this dreadful feeling gave you nausea almost. Unfocused. It was like a drug. One you never want to take again.

Yet you still had the idiotic sly smirk on your face, your legs never trembled and were kept crossed like a proper lady as your mom used to call you out on. Half of your posture was faked, but you had to take precaution. After all, you are mischievous and short-tempered but you're no lady. But if it's to tolerate the two people interrogating you then so be it.

"(Y/n) (L/n)."

The middle-aged woman crossed her legs and huffed as she removed her cigarette. As dangerous as she looked with her puffed jet black hair -- with a white streak in the middle -- and her awfully shady purple mascara; you knew she could do you no harm. However, her assistant was another story. She stood near the presumed Administrator's desk and held her clipboard close to her chest. Miss Pauling. She wore similar purple uniform like her mentor. But as much as she looked nerdy, she was definitely the one who dragged your pitiful ass all the way to Teufort.

"Hispanic. As a matter of fact -- Cuban."

The monitors from behind the woman caught your interest. Some screens display arenas, of what, you weren't sure. You couldn't stand her dictating your personal life in front of you as if you never experienced it. How the hell does she know you?

"Your mother and father dragged you along to escape to America in a damaged boat that one of your father's friends let him borrow. Shamefully, almost getting to land, the boat sank due to faulty wiring and your father got eaten alive by sharks."

She looked up from her personal clipboard to see your reaction so far but your eyes are half-lidded and your legs gave up the lady act and crossed themselves onto her desk, showing off your dusty low-cut black boots. However, she pressed on.

"You and your mother arrived at shore by sheer luck and a fisher took the both of you in."

Your heart palpitated abnormally fast, you knew what the next part's going to be.

"Because of your short-temper, you couldn't withstand your mother's loud screaming all the time and the noises you hear when the fisherman and your mother were behind closed doors. So you grabbed a nearby sickle and slaughtered them both and mutilated them to the point where no one could recognize them, not even yourself. You were fifteen years old, Miss (L/n)."

You so badly wanted to retort, and you did. "The _puta (whore)_ never had the words "shut up" in her dictionary. So I decided to show her what it meant. Oh, did she _learn_." You snarled under your breath, your eyes narrow at the memory of your mother's downfall. You hated that you shared so many traits with her. Her stubbornness. Her face structure. Hell, even hair color. "Are we done? Can I go home?"

The Administrator faltered her cigar in her ashtray, not like it mattered, the whole room stank of the smell. "You see, finding you was honestly the most difficult choice we ever made. And we somehow located where you were, Miss (L/n). No need to go deep into it. I saw how talented and skilled you are with the crossbow and sickle you've obtained. Losing you right now would be like losing billions of dollars."

She chuckled under her breath and paused before continuing, "You have no choice here, I'm sure you're smart enough to know that."

You cocked a brow at her, already having your signature frown plastered on your face. "What the hell am I getting out of this?"

"Money." Miss Pauling filled in. "A lot of money. You need to pay for your cousin's health insurance one way or another after all."

"Okay, old hag and Miss Puffin. As much as I like to fight back, just give me the contract already." You knew it was worthless to argue back to people who can't listen, which is also another thing you couldn't handle with your mom.

A wrinkled paper and a quill pen carefully slid to place in front of you, every word being in tiny print besides the obvious signature line and two logos: a red bomb with the words "Reliable Excavation Demolition" and a blue wrench stating "Builders League United" at the bottom of the blue box.

"I'm confused."

"You're being hired to fight a war with the weapons you main. You're joining nine other classes in one base, and we need your full cooperation. So what's it going to be, RED or BLU?"

Your breath hitched, indecisive of your options. Not like her explanation did much difference. "RED." The bomb logo made you hopeful that the team you picked was the best there is. You hoped.

"Also, before you sign, we're going to agree ourselves on a deal here." You glared at her, not wanting to hear any more words sputter out of her mouth. "You need to get two hundred assist kills by the end of this week. _All_ of your kills have to be assist kills. You aren't exactly the social type -- we had the same situation with two other classes. This is a team effort, Miss (L/n). If you don't fulfill your part of the bargain expect your pockets empty and a death sentence, same implied if you break any other rules. Any other questions shall be asked to your fellow teammates. I know you will do well."

Cold sweat dripped from the base of your forehead, your lips quivered with the anxiety just practically surging in your bloodstream. Yet, you stitched a grin on your face and a determined glare at your new boss. "Don't expect disappointment from me, only my mom's allowed to do that and she's not here anymore." You signed the contract and handed the thin document to her. Her smirk never wavered as she took the file. The look that she gave you made you want to re-evaluate your choice.

Not like it matters, you can't go home.

"Good luck, _Technician._ "

" _Come mierda (Eat shit)._ "

 _Fuck,_ you thought. _Why did I agree to this._

 

_______________________________

 

"You will meet the team shortly. It's not long now."

You heaved a sigh; your back turned to Miss Pauling as she drove her jeep across the arid desert, the sun practically scorching your skin. As the heat lapped away at your fragile skin, you thought, you were used to this kind of weather. But the dry, barren wasteland nor the seatbelts tightening around your legs and arms (due to being in a wrong position) didn't bother you, rather the things Miss Pauling exposed on your way to the RED base.

You will admit; technology is miraculous.

Respawn. The ability to come back from the dead. You laughed when she said that but she maintained her serious face and her voice never wavered as she explained the details.

Teleporters as well. To just vanish and reappear on the other side of the field in an instant.

She also filled you in on the equipment and the luxury of having your own room with your proper logo that described your class. Technician. You almost let out a chuckle.

Of course, it came with the proper uniform.

You wore a simple red bat sleeve blouse with a silver heart locket necklace your cousin gave you. Black jeans and the same low cut boots you showed off to the Administrator a week ago. You brought along a fanny pack that rested by the side of your hip and a thigh holster on your other leg for your APS so it wouldn't interfere with the fanny pack. And of course you have your crossbow slung onto your back. There was something missing out of you infantry weapon set...

"(Y/n), I know you don't like to listen but please refrain from keeping your sickle attached to your hip holster, you're tearing up the seat."

You smiled and snorted at her request and watched as with every bump in the road made your sickle dig itself deeper into the car seat. You gripped it by the handle and let it lay on your lap. Honestly, it was a bad idea since now the searing metal burned against your legs.

"Do you have my logo designed already?"

"Yes." she paused for a second. "Don't expect anything complex-looking. Everyone has their emblem simple and clear. You're getting it stitched onto your blouse later today or tomorrow."

You gazed up and saw the outline of the RED base infrastructure come into view. The familiar red bomb was enlarged on the top of the base, similar to hospitals. Although, the base wasn't compared to what you thought it would be like -- a skyscraper. But it made sense that the base is small, just a few stories high. The size of an apartment building perhaps.

"I know why you're not answering most of my questions." you sputtered, overthinking about her vague responses, "You want me to talk to my team -- be socializing for once, huh?" You didn't get a very fast response.

Clicking her tongue, she replied, "You know (Y/n)? The Administrator is right. You're smart. Hell, even your 5.0 GPA proves it along with whatever is in that fanny pack of yours."

"I know. It's still unbelievable how I was able to grasp onto the branch of science so easily while others fall down the tree within the first step." Miss Pauling knew what you were referring to. After all, it's the reason why she pretended to be super polite with you. She would have just taken your sickle and confiscate it throughout the ride but she knew better.

You carried everything lethal in your fanny pack; and it's not just the ammo for your APS.

Explosives. Gas.

Anthrax. Sarin. Phosgene. Yperite.

Just a whiff of the odorless gas and you have a date with death.

Did you expect your crossbow to shoot just arrows? Obviously you didn't search up the definition of technician.

"Look, we're here." Miss Pauling announced as she quickly unfasten her seatbelt, obviously not wanting to be near you again. While she knocked on the door, you equipped your sickle back to its original holster and stood beside the assistant. Damn, you were only half a head shorter than she was.

The metallic doors slid open and there stood a tall man in medical attire and red gloves. The moment he laid eyes on you behind those spectacles, he grinned like a madman. "So zhis is zhe Technician? _Wunderbar (Wonderful)!_ I am the Medic, such a pleasure to finally meet you!" He outstretched his hand and you firmly shook it and smiled at his delighted grin.

"Pleasure's all mine." you greeted and kissed his cheek. Medic's eyes widened at the gesture and lets go of your hand. Scarlet threatened to overtake his cheeks and you could tell he was never greeted by a Hispanic. Maybe you should just refrain to just saying the typical "hi" and handshake.

"Remember the deal." Miss Pauling advised and scurried off back to her jeep, isolating you with the madman of a doctor.

"Vell, vhat are you vaiting for?" he gestured and made space. "Come in!"

Narrowing your eyes, you saw four men playing poker. One of them has a hard hat with goggles on and he appears to be anxious and fidgety with his cards. A deep, drunken laugh erupted from the man with the eyepatch alongside him as he slammed down his cards. "Ha! Suck oan it ye bludy American! All th' riches an' alcohol tae me, lads!" The man laughed even harder as he won the bet of money and newfound alcohol that the three other guys had to give up.

"We should play other game. This gets boring quick." The muscly man decided along with the two spectators of the match. There sat someone with a fire retardant suit on the floor, trying to trigger a spark from the lighter in his gloves. The other spectator is the youngest out of all of them; baseball cap and looks says it all.

"Yeah, how 'bout some good ol' Russian Roulette?" The Bostonian guy elbowed the Russian, grinning wildly to see if he triggered an offensive reaction. He did get one -- just not from who he expected.

"I WILL NOT RESORT MYSELF TO PLAY ANY OF YOUR COMMUNIST GAMES!" The American stood, his helmet barely showing his eyes.

Seven.

That's how many classes you've seen thus far. Where were the other two?

"Ah, I'm sorry for zhere unprofessional behavior. Ve just didn't expect you to come so soon. Which is also vhy Spy und Sniper are not here at zhe moment." he still took note of your uncomforting aura. "Do not vorry, fräulein (miss)."

You gulped, feeling the same thing when you spoke with the Administrator. The familiar nausea is kicking in.

 

_"Remember the deal."_

_What war did the puta made me sign up for?_

 

 

Weapons:  
Crossbow (projectiles of explosives or chemicals, occasionally arrows)  
Stechkin automatic pistol (APS)  
Sickle


	2. The Mercenaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weapons:  
> Crossbow (projectiles of explosives or chemicals, occasionally arrows)  
> Stechkin automatic pistol (APS)  
> Sickle

They seemed like a peculiar bunch of so-called “mercenaries” that was taken off the streets. You appreciated the diversity within the group the Administrator picked out. What surprised you was the fact that they were having fun in a serious environment where the possibility of death was always lingering. It wouldn’t surprise you if an enemy spy could take them all out now due to their vulnerability.

 

The sight of them really fried your nerves, but you’ve been taught by your cousin to not judge on someone’s first impression. You just hoped that this war was as serious as the Administrator and Miss Pauling made it out to be. Perhaps the BLU team have been a better option.

 

The boy with the baseball cap averted his attention to you after escaping the large man’s death grip after his offensive comment. “Hey, who’s this?” his face scrunched in pure confusion at your presence and you blinked as he squinted cautiously. His gauze-wrapped hands aimed for his worn steel baseball bat. The others had the same reaction, each with their own menacing faces and low growls.

 

The Medic stood protectively in front of you at their hostile response. You couldn’t help but cock a brow and smirked at their sudden change attitude. Their first impression was definitely deceiving. Their eyes burned with such an intensity that made you instantly believe that the men were serious about the battles they fought.

 

“You dumpkoffs (idiots)! You don’t treat a newcomer zhis vay!” Medic advised with a fierce tone as if he were trying to calm down wild dogs.

 

The baseball cap boy dryly laughed, “Don’t be dumb, Medic! That’s a damn spy and you know it!” he gripped on his bat harder, glaring at you straight into your naive eyes.

 

Medic returned the same expression to him, “Scout, this is the Technician! I just greeted her at the door who was alongside Miss Pauling!”

 

His unexpected label shocked you. He didn’t appear to be the scouting type at all, especially with such a measly figure of a man who appeared to be a boy.

 

“Oh…” Scout loosened his grip on his weapon and softened his expression. The others had calmed down but maintained wary of your presence. “She didn’t say we’re gonna have a girl.”

 

“As an addition to our crew, she’ll do jus’ fine.” A Southern accent drawled you. It came from a man with a hard hat and shady goggles as he smiled sincerely. “Ah, sorry for not introducing myself first. I’m the Engineer. If it’s too long you can call me anythin’, ma’am.”

 

You sent him a small smile. Various emits of muffles sounded near the floor and you looked around, only to notice that it was coming from the person with a black gas mask. He waved at you but became distracted when he managed to spark a flame in his lighter.

 

“That man right there’s Pyro, he likes to handle things with fire,” the Engineer filled in. “He never takes off his mask for anyone, so it’s kinda hard to understand ‘im sometimes.”

 

The cast kept getting stranger to you. If one of them doesn’t allow themselves to talk, wouldn’t that mess up the communication in the battlefield?

 

Despite your inner thoughts, the mercenaries kept introducing themselves. One with a black eyepatch hiccuped and raised a finger, his other hand gripping on alcohol for dear life. “Aye, ye caught me oan me worst mood. I’m th’ Demoman, I deal wit’ explosives an’ sticky traps. So tell me, lass, what makes ye different than me?!”

 

You assumed it was the alcohol taking effect to react this way, but he appeared to be a pretty tolerant and heavy drinker. His eyes bore into yours with a jealous and frustrated gaze that you couldn’t blame. You slammed your hands on the creaky table, erasing everyone’s suspicious moods. “Well, you see, we have two very different things, _Demoman_.” you started, everyone focused on you and your actions. “Your specialty is bombs, mines is chemistry. Bombs explode to deal physical damage to an enemy, mines can kill you if you even smell it.”

 

You retracted from the table slowly for the full effect, absorbing the Demoman’s look of wide eyes. He was lost at words, only for him to unconsciously release a low growl and took a swig of his drink. “Alrigh’ lass, whatever ye say…” he responded at your intimidation tactic.

 

Your only response was to blink at his ignorance. Did he not believe that you were capable of doing that?

 

It was the large man’s turn to speak, and he scoffed to get your attention. “I am Heavy,” he introduced yourself and you immediately bit your lips hard and your face almost flushed red at his poor wording. You automatically convinced yourself to stop since you were in the same predicament when learning English during your teen and young adult years. Nonetheless, he continued as if he didn’t notice your subtle reaction, “I fight my wars with Sasha, and we fear no man _or_ woman.”

 

You caught a glimpse of the minigun he had next to named “Sasha” before he tucked it underneath the table with tender care. You feared no one as well, but you were slightly intimidated at his capability in fights.

 

The last man did make you uncomfortable at his expressive patriotism. His soldier hat hang loosely on his head, covering his eyes. A frown was plastered on his face which reminded you of the men in the American military. “I’m the head here. I train you maggots to go to war so you won’t die,” he introduced before adding, “a lot.” You cringed at his one volume voice which was the same loudness as a stereotypical American.

 

The Soldier wanted to continue and brag about his training session when the Medic interjected. “I’m zhe Medic, quite obviously,” he fixed his glasses, “I heal your injuries in the middle of battle; if you want to contact me, I’m at zhe Medbay.”

 

You nodded at his simple introduction, but his eyes seemed to be lost in thought at the mention of his own Medbay with a small smirk. He scoffed before addressing you, “So, Technician, tell us about yourself. Vhere are you from?”

 

Ah, yes, the dreaded question. You kept in mind that the Soldier had been staring you down enviously and with suspicious eyes. You wanted to take precautions and didn’t want to reveal everything just yet. “It’s confidential.” Sweat formed as beads on your forehead at the intensity of everyone’s gazes.

 

“Heh, you’re shy aren’t ya?” The Scout built a layer of tension rather than destroying it.

 

Before you could retaliate, the Soldier stood up from his seat and slammed his fists on the table, knocking over the Demoman’s empty alcohol bottle. “YOU’RE A DAMN COMMIE, DON’T THINK I’M DUMB!” he screeched like an eagle and pointed at your sickle that stuck out on your thigh holster.

 

He held you by your blouse with an iron grip and you glared under him, “I’m from Cuba.” you spat out. “But that doesn’t make me un communista (a communist).”

 

He dropped you and you breathed in hard. Then, he pointed at you with cold eyes, “I’m gonna get my revenge on you folks. I’ve fought plenty of you back in my day. That BLU Technician will never get outta spawn!” he huffed before heading outside in the burning intensity of Mexico’s sun.

 

The others remained silent, some even rolled their eyes at the one who had left the base. “He’s just gonna beat up the punching bags outside with a shovel, don’t worry, ma’am. He means well, but don’t take him too seriously.”

 

You sighed, already feeling exhaustion from meeting with seven classes. You couldn’t imagine meeting the Spy and Sniper. Silently, you hoped that they were not as oppressive and uncomfortable as the others.

 

The Pyro approached you unknowingly and you jolted at his silent presence and heavy breathing. His words were muffled behind his mask, but ultimately gestured for you to follow him.

 

With his flamethrower in hand, you couldn’t imagine how the enemies were supposed to live under literal fire plus the scorching heat of Mexico with armor and tucked uniform. You were lucky to have him for easy wins on the battlefield, you assumed.

 

He stopped in front of a door with bold text on a silver bar. The text read ‘TECHNICIAN’ and a giant logo made up almost half of the steel door. It was a bright yellow circle with a red outline and a red crossbow aiming up. Miss Pauling wasn’t kidding about its simplicity, but it brought charm to your class and it got the point across.

 

“Mmph hm.” He voiced under his mask and pressed 3-number digits on a panel next to your door. HIs fingers pointed at the numbers and gazed back at you with the empty sockets of his mask. You nodded at his gesture and mentally memorized your 3-digit code, 177.

 

The door opened to reveal a twin-sized bed in the small corner of the room. Luckily for you, it had its own personal bathroom and enough cabinets to store your necessities. The poor quality reminded you of home, but it was still inviting and cozy to you.

 

Pyro patted your shoulder and gave you a thumbs-up. He then raised two fingers and circled the logo on his uniform and pointed at you.

 

You were intimidated by his seemingly threatening message, “What do you mean by that?” you had asked, only for Pyro to head his way back to the rec room, humming in such a lively yet creepy way.

 

Sighing, you entered and closed your door, taking in the cozy atmosphere. You stripped from your heated clothes due to traveling with Miss Pauling for a while and stepped in the shower. There was a lot more space in the bathtub and the shower head was more modern than the one at home. Regardless, you let the warm water cleanse you of the sweat and grime you endured.

 

You groaned as your muscles started to ache less and less. As your fingers raked through your hair, you couldn’t help but think of the situation you put yourself into.

 

You knew there was something much more darker inside Teufort and the Administrator wanted to be secretive about its origins. How did she manage to hire such a bunch? Why did she need to recruit more people? What war were you fighting that you needed to get two hundred assist kills so easily?

 

Your thoughts drifted to the men that you just met. They appeared to be extremely submissive of the situation unless the war had changed them to be like that. You wondered if they have family back home that they needed to take care of. And what about the other two classes? Why hadn’t they shown themselves to you?

 

You accidentally tugged a little too hard on your hair and you hissed. You pinched your nose at your inner doubts. How they present themselves to you shouldn’t damage your cooperation efforts. They could be the nicest or the worst pair of men, but as long as they kept their distance from you, you’d be fine.

 

In the end, meeting with them won’t matter in the slightest. You came here by force, but you were getting paid a hell lot of money that you can send for your cousin’s health insurance.

 

You stepped out of the shower with your face flushed and your hair unkempt and thin from the washing. As you were dressing, a hard knock resonated from behind your door. “Technician, we need to discuss some zhings before you’re out in battle.” You can hear giggling coming from the doctor before he continued, “We may need to alter some... _zhings_ in your body so you can be, uh, more suited for battle.”

 

His suggestion creeped you out, since you didn’t like the idea of him putting his hands on or inside of you. But if he was a doctor, you had to put your faith in him. You had to be willing to sacrifice anything if it meant for the well-being of your family.

 

“Heh, what do you mean, doctor?” you inquired, shoving your feet in your black boots. You pressed a button next to the door and it slid open to your right. Surprisingly, he changed into a more casual attire and his smile gleamed despite the dim light in the hall.

 

His cheeks were red and his grin didn’t falter, “You need to go through an important surgical procedure… zhings like respawn may heavily affect your heart. I’m here to make sure you’re safe and comfortable in and out of battle.”

 

Your face paled at the mention of the words surgical procedure and he noticed your blank expression. He let out a half-hearted laugh, “I’m required to do zhis, Technician. I’ve never practiced on a female body in such a long time; let’s see how it goes, shall we?” he extended his hand and you hesitantly grasped it. You noted his grin grew wider.

 

He lead you past the rec room, informing you that the Medbay was just across it. When you and him passed the rec room, most of the men had disappeared. Scout was eating a sloppily-made sandwich while hitting the base of the chair occasionally with his bat. You caught his eyes and you noticed how he cringed at the sight of the two of you. The most prominent expression was fear and guilt written on his face before he just shook his head and gave a thumbs up.

 

You grinned awkwardly at his gesture, it being the second of obscure gestures you received today. You could tell there was a lot of adjustment that you needed to do. Ultimately, you were forced to bond with strange yet intriguing men who seemed to doubt your strength. It didn’t matter. Once you finished this war and get the money, you can call it quits and go home.

 

The Medic let go of your hand gently, allowing you to pass first inside his Medbay with the same grin. “Do not vorry, fräulein (miss).” he repeated from your first time meeting him. A sinister yet innocent look was becoming fairly obvious on his face. “Zhis place iz not very soundproof, so please… keep your screams at a minimum, ja?”

**Author's Note:**

> TF2 belong to Valve  
> Takes place after comics  
> Artwork displayed belongs to their artists  
> Story and plot belongs to me (Neige/Insanityespeon/QueenCandyness)  
> I legit took forever trying to find the proper class and weapons and hopefully it suits well


End file.
